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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24838306">So, You've Drafted Clay Spenser</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/strandedchesspiece/pseuds/strandedchesspiece'>strandedchesspiece</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>SEAL Team (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Attempt at Humor, But we love him dearly, Clay is a walking disaster</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 05:28:12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,003</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24838306</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/strandedchesspiece/pseuds/strandedchesspiece</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Clay is new to Bravo, and Trent receives some advice from the kid's previous medic.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>48</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>229</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>So, You've Drafted Clay Spenser</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>My brain needed a small break from the misery and despair of my other fic, and this wouldn't leave me alone. So here's a little light-hearted story set when Clay is very new to Bravo. Thanks for reading x</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Trent was the last to leave the cage room – which wasn't unusual. By the time he de-geared and sorted his med kit, he was nearly always the last to leave. Most times, Brock waited for him. But today Cerb had a vet appointment, and so Trent was left to pull the door closed on an empty room.</p><p>Stepping into the corridor with his pack slung over a shoulder and motorcycle helmet under his arm, he catalogued his aches and pains from the day's drills.</p><p>Jason had been relentless, ordering endless do-overs. The team's leader had come down hard on their new rookie, but Trent had caught the genuine admiration for Clay's skill. It was never easy, adjusting to a new guy. But thankfully, Clay had seemed to slot seamlessly enough into Bravo's groove.</p><p>Trent pulled a deep breath, making his way towards the exit. His shower was calling. His bed was calling.</p><p>"Trent -"</p><p>He could almost hear them.</p><p>"Trent!"</p><p><em>Fuck</em>. That wasn't them.</p><p>Halting his steps, he turned to see Blackburn jogging after him. More than a little desperately, he prayed that whatever their commander wanted, it wouldn't stop him from heading home right now.</p><p>Blackburn held out an envelope.</p><p>Trent blinked at it.</p><p>"This was left under my door," Blackburn explained, shaking it lightly in Trent's direction.</p><p>Hesitantly, Trent reached out, accepted the envelope. It was blank, aside from some handwriting on the front: <em>Attn Trent Sawyer</em>. He lifted a questioning brow.</p><p>But Blackburn just shrugged. "No idea who it's from. I trust you'll tell me if there's anything I need to know."</p><p>Trent resisted the urge to open it, chose instead to fold it and tuck it into his jacket pocket.</p><p>"Oh, and I need your help with something," Blackburn added.</p><p>Trent's face visibly fell.</p><p>Thankfully, Blackburn's eyes crinkled, and he grinned. "Just kidding." He clapped Trent on the shoulder with a small chuckle. "Go home. Get some rest. You look wrecked."</p><p>Trent watched him turn and head back in the direction of his office, the unsuccessful humor bouncing off him. Was that a joke? Blackburn never joked. Trent's mind had trouble processing.</p><p>Giving up, he turned his heavy steps towards the exit again.</p><p>STSTSTSTSTSTSTSTST</p><p>The shower was amazing.</p><p>Trent lay, spread out like a starfish atop his bed, releasing a tired breath and allowing his eyes to drift closed.</p><p>Half-way to sleep, he remembered the envelope.</p><p>It could wait until morning.</p><p>He didn't need to read it.</p><p>He was too damned tired.</p><p>…</p><p><em>Oh fuck you, curiosity</em>.</p><p>…</p><p>Pushing up from his comfortable position, he pulled his eyelids open and wearily made his way towards his jacket hanging on the back of the bedroom door. Snagging the envelope, he pulled it free of the pocket, reversed and plopped down on the edge of the bed.</p><p>Tearing it open, he withdrew a neatly folded handwritten letter.</p><p>Releasing a sigh, he set about reading.</p><p>…</p><p>
  <em>Dear Mister Sawyer,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>It has come to my attention that your team has recently acquired a new member, Clay Spenser, and I wish to extend my heartfelt condolences.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I also feel it is my duty to offer what advice I can, having spent a good few years in the field with Clay.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>It is entirely up to you whether or not you take this advice on board. However, I do believe it would be in your best interests to pay close attention. I am offering you a heads up, if you will – something that was not offered to me, which subsequently resulted in me gaining a great number of premature grey hairs, as well as having to regularly attend an expensive psychologist.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>My first piece of advice would be to stock up your medical supplies. Whatever you currently have, triple it.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Gauze is a must, and lots of it. Clay has trouble differentiating between a simple graze, and a gaping hole gushing blood. He wont hide an injury, so much as he will completely ignore it until he's near bled out. If he looks pale – check him. If he says he's not hit – check him. If he tries to blow you off – sedate him, and then check him. Chances are, you'll need the gauze. So gather it. Hoard it. </em>
  <em>
    <span>You will use a lot of it.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Secondly, antibiotics. I'm sure you already carry one or two different types. My advice to you is get them all. Every single one of them. Because let me tell you, when it comes to Clay and infections, it's like Russian roulette. You think you know which one to give him? </em>
  <em>It wont work</em>
  <em>. Have multiple types on hand. You will need them – most likely over a ridiculously short period of time, knowing that kid's luck.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Thirdly, pills. Always opt for pills, as opposed to liquid oral medication. In the rare event that you do require liquid medication, for the love of God, </em>
  <em>do not give him cherry flavor</em>
  <em>. I cannot stress this enough. I made the mistake once, and he was like a border collie on speed. He didn't sleep for nearly twenty-four hours. Our team was in close quarters, and let me just say, there was nearly a mutiny that night.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Fourthly, let me talk about tweezers. I would recommend getting extra-long ones. Why? Because when Clay got a pebble lodged up his nostril, after becoming bored on a surveillance op and completing a dare given by one of his fellow teammates, I thought surely he had learnt his lesson and would never do something so idiotic again. </em>
  <em>I was wrong</em>
  <em>. The next time it happened, it was a small berry, and we were in the Amazon completing mandatory training. Clay got bored, decided to make a game. Berry got stuck, in his ear this time. Turned out berry was poisonous. Training got canned, and we had to get him a medivac out of there. I decided then and there to trade my regular tweezers for longer ones, and I would recommend you do the same. There is a saying, 'Everything that happens twice will surely happen a third time.' Clay didn't do it again whilst serving on our team, so I fully expect number three will be saved for you.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Fifth on the list: emesis bags. Clay will vomit with just about any ailment. Fevers equal vomit. Colds and flu equal vomit. Infections equal vomit. Concussions equal vomit. So stock up on bags, and keep them handy at all times. And don't get too attached to your footwear, because chances are your shoes will be vomited on at some point, no matter how quick you think you are, and you will have to get rid of them. In fact, just carry a spare pair of shoes. You will get better at catching the vomit, over time.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Sixth, I want to mention fevers. Clay gets fevers hard and fast, so have a good thermometer. You think you've seen high fevers? Think again. I've never seen anyone's temperature shoot up like his. And give him a wide berth when he's febrile – he likes to throw punches. And he always rants about chickens. </em>
  <em>Do not ask him about the chickens</em>
  <em>. My understanding is that he had a bad experience as a child, but any time I asked, he was always extremely reluctant to talk about it. Which goes for any aspect of his childhood, really. Do not go there. Leave the chickens, and anything else that may arise in his fever dreams, alone.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Number seven: concussions. Just like fevers, he likes to throw punches when regaining consciousness. Get behind him, if you can. And warn others not to stand too close. I learnt the hard way and nearly ended up with a broken nose. And don't let him tell you he's fine. His eyes can be shooting in two different directions and he'll try to convince you he's good to go. </em>
  <em>Ignore him</em>
  <em>. Strap him to a gurney, if need be. You'll get good at rejecting his complaints.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Lastly, and probably most importantly, stock up on hard liquor and painkillers, for yourself. (Not to be taken simultaneously, of course.) Don't drink? </em>
  <em>
    <span>Start</span>
  </em>
  <em>. Don't suffer from headaches? </em>
  <em>You will</em>
  <em>. Clay will be the pain in your ass you never saw coming, and keeping him alive will be the hardest thing you'll ever have to do. Mark my words, if there's trouble, that kid will find it. He will find it, and he will throw himself headfirst into it – no matter how hard you beg him not to.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>There are plenty of other things I could get into, but I feel I've said enough. You will find out the rest along the way. Just think of it as a learning curve – one that hurls you into the air, and then violently slams you face-first into a pile of shit.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I would offer for you to contact me, should you have any further questions, but I've done my time and young Spenser has shaved far too many years off my life already. So please, do not try to find me. I do not wish to discuss this further.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I feel for you, Mister Sawyer, as you take on this near-impossible task of navigating Clay's future misadventures.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>For your own sake, please take note of my advice.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Sincerely,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Simon Wentworth</em>
</p><p>
  <em>(Medic, Team 3)</em>
</p><p>…</p><p>Trent continued to stare at the letter, long after he'd finished reading.</p><p>Eventually, he folded it, returned it to the envelope.</p><p>
  <em>Well …</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Shit.</em>
</p><p>Laying back upon his bed, he tried to find his happy spot once again. But his mind was now racing, thoughts tumbling over each other.</p><p>Minutes passed by, and then they gathered into hours.</p><p>Despite Trent's bone-weariness, he barely slept a wink that night, and ended up re-reading the letter another three times over, just to be sure he hadn't imagined it.</p><p>STSTSTSTSTSTSTSTSTST</p><p>"What's this?" Jason asked, pausing midway through lacing his boots to suspiciously eye the piece of paper Trent handed him.</p><p>It was a few days after the unexpected letter, and they were back in the cage room, ready to start a new day.</p><p>Trent leaned against the side of Jason's cage, feeling his eye twitch involuntarily. It had been maddeningly twitching ever since he'd read Simon Wentworth's letter. "My favorite types of beer and take-out," he supplied, shortly.</p><p>Jason raised a brow from where he sat, skimmed the note. "I can see that."</p><p>"Two months supply," Trent clarified, words stiff. "That, or I transfer."</p><p>Jason blinked, caught off guard. "I'm sorry, <em>what</em>?"</p><p>"You heard right." Trent had thought it through, and these were his conditions. If things were really going to be as rough as Clay's previous medic had hinted, then he felt he should be compensated somehow. Fishing the letter from his pocket, he handed it to Jason by way of explanation.</p><p>Jason's gaze darted between the two pieces of paper. He opened his mouth, but whatever he was about to say was cut off as the cage room door opened, and Davis shouldered her way in.</p><p>"Trent," she grit, balancing an armful of boxes and carefully maneuvering herself past the door, kicking it closed behind her. "You gonna tell me <em>why</em> you needed all these extra things?"</p><p>Casting one more look at Jason, and mouthing '<em>or I transfer'</em>, Trent hurried across the room, catching Brock's curious glance.</p><p>Davis gladly handed off the boxes. She stood at the door of his cage as he checked the attached labels. "I mean -" she folded her arms. "Extra-long tweezers? The hell you need those for?"</p><p>The door opened again, and Clay entered. He nodded politely at each of them, shooting a smile as he headed towards his cage. "Morning."</p><p>Trent's eye twitched more violently, as he tracked their rookie's movements – Simon's warnings swirling around his head.</p><p>He flicked open a pen-knife, glanced pointedly across the room at Jason as he stabbed harder than necessary into box labelled <em>emesis bags</em>, slitting it open.</p><p>What the hell did he need all this for?</p><p><em>Apparently</em>, the walking disaster that was their new kid, Clay Spenser.</p>
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